Love, in Fire and Blood
by echoblu57
Summary: An unwanted love affair that tears apart a fortress of a man, and an unexpected love affair that tears apart the heart of a young women. Can either be made whole again? Definitely AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first story. I will say that I own nothing and I am just having fun. I hope you enjoy.

**LATE**

Sidra Moncrieff woke up late for the first time since she had been a pre-teen. She threw back the covers as panic set in. Knowing there was no time for a proper bath, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and took off out the door wearing the clothes she had worn yesterday and consequently slept in. Her accommodations were on the fifth floor and it was quite the feat of navigation to find her way in a place she had not even been acquainted with for eight hours. She hoped with all her might that Professor Sprout might oversleep as well.

Her train arrived late last evening, all the way from Carcassonne, France, a long and uneventful journey. It was after midnight and the waning moon was high in the sky when she was greeted at the iron gates by the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who seemed to be put out at having to wait up for her. Salutations were swift and made while the long walk began to the massive entry doors. Sidra barely registered the greetings of the stalwart woman leading her towards the largest fortification she had ever seen.

Sidra was in awe of the castle she would be living in for the next three years, it was nothing like the school she had just graduated from, Beauxbatons, a rolling chateau of pale blue and gold façade, nestled in the idyllic hills of southern France. The fortress that confronted her now seemed like it was pulled out of her imaginary musings of Count Dracula's home, well maybe not quite as sinister but something of the sort. Under the moonlight the vast silhouette of the edifice and outline of the many turrets took her breath away as she felt the many sightless windows watch her surreptitiously. There was a certain ebb and flow of the castle walls that slightly alarmed her as if the structure itself was alive. However, keeping up with the impatient strides of the Headmistress did not afford her to linger as long as she would have liked, even though she was tired and looking forward to resting her head. She hadn't slept on the train.

Oh, now how she wished she would have caught a few moments of rest on the train, as she traversed her way through the castle. She now hoped that maybe Professor Sprout had somehow got tangled in Devil's Snare; poor women, if she had.

Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress, led her to her rooms and left Sidra there to settle in for the night after explaining that the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, would meet with her late tomorrow afternoon, after her first lesson with Professor Sprout. Sidra closed the door, thankful for the brevity of the explanation and sighed to herself. She felt overwhelmed and a bit frightened suddenly in this new place.

She had wanted her apprenticeship at Hogwarts fiercely and after applying and jumping through hoops to get here she felt slightly anxious. It was unusual that the Governing Board of Hogwarts had allowed her to apprentice with three different Professors. Only on occasion did a new grad get to apprentice at Hogwarts at all. Three years studying under the most brilliant minds in their respective fields: Professor Sprout, Botanist and Herbology expert, Professor Snape, Potions Master, and Madame Pomfrey, Mediwitch, a year of tutelage under each. Her first being with Professor Sprout, the only one she had met.

Sidra's Professor of Herbology at Beauxbatons, Mademoiselle Royer, introduced her to Professor Sprout over the summer at a symposium on non-magical plants used in magic. She took an immediate liking to the older witch and hoped her applications would be accepted. She didn't fear being rejected after meeting Professor Sprout or corresponding through letters with Madame Pomfrey. It was Professor Snape that had her worried. His first letter was a flat out no. No explanation, no anything. She had sent letters of inquiries with scans of her NEWT transcripts, showing she had received Outstanding in all her subjects, along with recommendation letters from several Professors and Madame Maxine, her former Headmistress.

Feeling dejected she wrote once more, this time to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore explaining her dream of becoming a Mediwitch and of how she had worked hard to achieve her grades. It was more than a dream of course, her Mediwitch desire, it was almost bordering on an obligation. All said, she was determined to get the best training and cultivation she could, and felt like the minds at Hogwarts could provide it.

Four weeks later she received another letter from Professor Snape, accepting her as an apprentice of potions. The letter was short and curt and most surly. The post script contained a list of equipment and ingredients she was to bring with her next year and for her not to lose the list as she would not be receiving a duplicate copy. At least she only had to apprentice with him for a year and not until next. Sidra had never met the man but from the tone of his letters she was very grateful for the slight reprieve she would get from not having him as a master first. She had wondered all along how Professor Dumbledore persuaded him to say yes. Without the Potions training the other two fields didn't matter one bit.

Putting her anxieties to rest she quickly scanned her lodgings and found them to be more than enough. She was thankful her trunk had arrived before her and sat in the middle of a large sitting room. Sidra decided she would sort through her things tomorrow evening. The best thing about her new space was it had enough bookshelves to store her accumulation of books. It also held a loveseat and two wing-backed chairs facing a large fireplace, which occupied most of one wall. Windows adorned both sides of the hearthside and looked out over a massive lake, rippling silver in the moonlight. To the left she found a moderate sized bedroom with a large four poster bed carved intricately with exotic flowers that matched an armoire in the far left corner. To the right was a bathroom big enough for the loo, basin, and a large claw foot tub. Sidra looked longingly at the tub wishing she had more time to take a soak and relax. As it was she would only get six hours of sleep if she went to bed directly.

Crossing to her bed she found a map of the school and grounds thankfully as she was yet to have a proper tour. Tomorrow would be a big day for not only her but the rest of the students at Hogwarts. First days always were. Placing the map on her bedside table she crawled under the heavy duvet and opened her copy of Hogwarts: A History. Evidently she had missed the sorting ceremony, where first years were separated into one of four houses. Beauxbatons did not have anything like that. She would catch the sorting ceremony next year as she definitely wanted to see the sorting hat in action. Her last thoughts before the heavy tome slipped from her hands was what would be served at breakfast.

Damn! Now she didn't have time for breakfast and cursed herself for her foolishness as she ran as fast as she could through the throngs of students in the halls of Hogwarts, careful of the sudden changing staircases but, paying no heed to the uneven stones threating to trip her, elbows pumping, heart racing, she hit the thick, wood-carved, front doors and flew down the steps as fast as her legs would move. Sidra consulted the map in her back pocket searching for the greenhouses. She didn't see them last night and wanted to be sure she was heading in the right direction.

Once on grass her flight picked up speed and she skidded to a halt in front of what she thought was Greenhouse 3. None of the greenhouses were clearly marked and she had to count from the first of which she encountered. Sidra hoped she was right. Pausing briefly to catch her breath and smooth her blonde hair down over her ponytail she slid quietly into the humid air in search of Professor Sprout. Five minutes late. Great first impression, she mused with a roll of her green eyes, still searching for the pleasingly plump Botanist.

She entered the hot house slowly and cautiously. She was well aware of the danger the greenhouses could hold. Looking all around her she momentarily forgot she was late. The movement of something above her caught her attention and her eyes shot to the transparent ceiling. The roof of the greenhouse soared toward the sky and a myriad of magical tropical plants swayed from the support beams. Sunlight sliced through the foliage and she could definitely detect movement in the overhanging fauna. Making a mental note to duck and run for cover if she had to, she brought her eyes forward to the narrow path shrouded in canopies of green.

Potted plants lined the walkway in all colours and sizes, some moving, some still, but all glistening in the early Scottish sunlight. The middle of the hot house held several large plots filled with seedlings making their way through peat and dung to greet the morning light. That's where she found Pomona Sprout, kneeling over a seedling she had coaxed into an upright position, speaking to the purple plant like one would speak to a small child. Although she could only hear murmurs of sweetness, she could tell the words were full of affection.

She hesitated for only a moment, so intent on watching the older women tend to her plants, before going over to kneel beside her.

"Good Morning Professor Sprout.", she smiled widely, "I'm sorry I'm late, I lost track of the time, it won't happen again."

The kindly mentor looked up from her administrations and wiped her brow with her muddy palm. She looked confused briefly before smiling back at her student.

"Well you are here now! That's what's important!" Sprout said cheerfully. "Help me finish planting these lumineux shoots and we can move on. Glad to have you Miss Moncreiff!"

So that is what she did for several hours until tea. They worked well together and before long the middle of the greenhouse was planted and watered. The Professor's knowledge of plants amazed her and she hung on every word and sage snippet she could remember. Out of the three subjects she chose to apprentice in, herbology was her weakest, and she was glad her first year would be devoted to the greenhouses. Hopefully the knowledge she gained here with Professor Sprout would help her with potions and medicine. Why else would it be required for the Mediwitch programme? She had a feeling she would need all the help she could get come next year.

Tea was a lovely occasion shared with Pomona, who insisted she be called by her first name. Expectations were set, the syllabus finalised, and plans for the rest of the afternoon were made. Working together companionably was like a balm for Sidra's soul. She didn't miss home or think about her friends, although she did wonder briefly if she would meet anyone her own age, and forge new friendships here at Hogwarts. Her mind briefly flittered to her parents, but she pushed the thoughts aside.

She concentrated on what she was learning and doing with her hands. She felt free and on her way to realising her purpose. At five o'clock they stopped and surveyed their work. Pomona seemed pleased with her efforts and in turn Sidra felt pleased with herself. With a bounce to her step she retreated to her rooms to finally have that bath she had been longing for.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Great Hall**

Upon entering her room, she flicked her wand at the fireplace and a cosy fire roared to life. Even though it was only the first week of September, coming from the south of France where it was warmer, Sidra was freezing. She slipped out of her offending clothes and waited while the bath filled with steaming, sudsy water. She didn't have all the time in the world; she had yet to meet with the Headmaster and she had every intention of being on time.

Thinking back over her day spent with Sprout, she had enjoyed the older woman's company. Pomona had given her two books she needed to familiarise herself with before tomorrow. She decided she needed to find out where the library was, hoping that Hogwarts had a selection to rival Beauxbatons. She loved a library, and found it more conducive to studying than her own private space.

After her bath, Sidra quickly dressed in Muggle jeans and a black turtleneck jumper. She studied her reflection in the mirror before adding a smidge of mascara and gloss. Her cheeks were already rosy with a few freckles that ran over the bridge of her nose, making her look younger than eighteen. She sometimes hated looking so young. She wished time would move forward, would decorate her face with wisdom; as if shedding her youthfulness would shed some of her childhood memories.

She shook her head. No need to be maudlin.

Quickly she threw her straight blonde hair in a pony, grabbed her map and headed in search of Dumbledore's office. Once in the halls, she had time to examine the moving paintings. There were paintings of maidens, dragons and trolls, knights amid armour, and lords and ladies dancing around maypoles. Fascinating…. She had never seen so many works of art collected in one place, except for maybe the Louvre, her favourite place under Muggle skies. She would have to try to communicate with them later.

The map led her a few floors up and into a well-lit passage. It ended in front of a gargoyle, indicating Dumbledore's office. The statue looked solid. No indication of any doors.

Sidra looked at the map again, thinking it must be wrong. She looked around her, annoyed, afraid of once again being late, before whipping back towards the menacing watcher. She had heard it move, of its own accord! Peering into the passageway the statue revealed, she hesitantly placed her foot on a spiral staircase, marvelling at the automatic movement of the risers. Sidra smiled to herself. It resembled one of those escalator things at a Muggle store.

The moving staircase deposited her in front of a plain mahogany door, which she knocked upon lightly. "Please, come in," a pleasant voice answered. "Join us."

She had very much looked forward to this moment of meeting Dumbledore. She'd known what he looked like, from the chocolate frog cards her sister Cinna had given her on Christmases past. So when she opened the door to find the elderly wizard seated behind his desk, she wasn't surprised by his long grey beard, knotted for neatness, or by his dark navy robes threaded with silver stars. Or even his brilliant blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, shining brighter than any trading card could portray. What surprised Sidra was two other people, already seated there before him.

All three rose when she entered the room.

"Ah, Miss Moncrieff. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Won't you join us for some tea before we get started?" Dumbledore gestured at the tea service that appeared before them with a flick of his hand.

Sidra smiled widely. "Thank-you, sir. I hope I'm not late."

"No, no, as a matter of fact you are right on time. Let me introduce you to your peers. This is Duncan Arterberry; he studied here with us at Hogwarts, before being accepted to further his education with Professors Sinistra, Master of Astronomy, and Babbling, Master of Ancient Runes." Dumbledore indicated a tall boy with unruly blonde hair and light grey eyes.

Duncan reached forward to take Sidra's hand in a warm, friendly grasp, his smile just as welcoming. Sidra decided she like him on the spot.

"And this is Vendala Drake. She comes to us from Durmstrang, and will be studying potions with Professor Snape." At this, Dumbledore turned to Vendala and smiled. "You will be undertaking potions with Miss Moncrieff your second year, Miss Drake, as she is here preparing for a career in healing."

Vendala Drake stood stiffly, chestnut hair covering her dark brown eyes. She had a pinch to her lips that could only be construed as disdain. Grudgingly she thrust her hand forward to shake Sidra's. It was a handshake to rival a python's.

Sidra snatched her hand back, feeling ill at ease with the girl's countenance. She cringed inwardly at having to spend a year working side by side with her. Her and Snape. She had, up until that moment, felt that luck had been on her side. She wondered if Snape had been as unbendable with Vendala's plea to be educated under him as he had with hers.

"Have a seat, Miss Moncrieff, and let's get started." Dumbledore directed her to an empty chair between Duncan and Vendala.

"As you are well aware, it is highly unprecedented that all three of you are under our guardianship here at Hogwarts, but it is with great delight that we have convinced the Board of Governors to let it be so. I feel it is the best place you could have chosen to extend your education and prepare yourselves for your respective fields."

Dumbledore paused, adding several sugar cubes to his tea before sipping it again. Satisfied, he went on, "So without further ado, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

There were clear thank-yous from both Duncan and Sidra, and a mumbled reply from Vendala. "I know each of you have received a letter from your Professors over the Holidays, outlining your upcoming coursework. Please feel free to reach out to them if there are any questions. Or come and find me. My office is always open."

Sidra liked Dumbledore immensely. She listened raptly as he went on to explain how the rules governing the student body — except for curfew, as he knew they would be at the library late — also applied to them, and how the Forbidden forest was…well, forbidden. It all seemed very straightforward and simple.

"If there are no further questions, I think it is time for a tour of the castle, and then: dinner! Oh, and by the way, the password to my office is 'Sticky Flan'."

The tour consisted of the astronomy tower, the library, all pertinent classrooms, and the locations of all four houses' dormitories, which consequently led them to the dungeons.

"To the left you will find the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms, and further ahead the Potions classroom and Professor Snape's office". Dumbledore winked directly at Duncan, who in turn shivered with a grimace.

Sidra made a mental note to ask Duncan about Snape, seeing as he had spent the last seven years in the same castle with him.

"Now, I don't know about you, but my stomach is telling me it's time to eat!" Dumbledore smiled as he gestured back toward the staircase they had previously descended. Finally, Sidra thought. She was starving.

The Great Hall was huge, both long and wide. Four long tables ran the length of the room, perpendicular to the entrance door, occupying most of the space. There was a separate table for each of the respective houses, students proudly displaying their house colours, indicating a clear division. The ceiling had been charmed to look like the night sky, and the hundreds of floating candles above them looked like shimmering stars. At the front of the room, facing the students, the staff table took front and centre. Sira quickly scanned the row of professors, smiling at Professor Sprout, who was looking in her direction.

She recognised Professor McGonagall from last night, and had learned from Dumbledore that she was also the Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House. The other teachers she had yet to meet. She looked for someone who might be a Mediwitch, her eyes passing over an impossibly large man with a bushy black beard and hands the size of frying pans. She couldn't tell who might be Madame Pomfrey, but she smiled widely at a small older man, who was standing on his chair to get a better look.

All eyes in the room were fixed on Dumbledore and the three newcomers that followed him to the front of the hall. The older students from the Gryffindor table seem to know Duncan and greeted him with salutations and cheer. That must have been his former house, thought Sidra, as Duncan waved and acknowledged some of the remarks with a hearty laugh.

Dumbledore turned to the little group. "Sit wherever you like. I will see you after dinner." With a wink, he turned and strode to his place at the staff table.

Duncan placed his hand on Sidra's lower back and guided her to a few empty seats at the Gryffindor table. Looking back over his shoulder, he called for Vendala to follow. She stood firmly rooted between the tables, a look of disgust on her face. She slowly turned her head to the table decorated in green and silver, and without acknowledging Duncan or Sidra further she made her way there instead.

Duncan threw his head back and laughed. "Well now, that doesn't surprise me one bit." Sidra had no idea what he was talking about, but followed him to the seats he'd pointed out earlier.

As she took her place between two boys and across from Duncan, the hall once again filled with chatter and laughter before Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat, casting the Sonorus spell.

She glanced up at the staff table once again, but this time her eyes fixed on a dark figure. He was staring directly at her.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dumbledore boomed. "Please take the time to welcome our new apprentices, Miss Vendala Drake from Durmstrang," — Vendala stood briefly and the table she sat at roared to life — "and Miss Sidra Moncrieff, who will be joining us from Beauxbatons."

Sidra never broke eye contact with the man who held her gaze as she stood. She felt if she did he would steal something from her. She sat back down quickly as Dumbledore finished his speech.

"And finally, most of you will remember Duncan Arterberry, our very own from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts!" Cheers went up all around them and Dumbledore had to silence the mostly happy crowd. "Now then, please make them feel at home, and do introduce yourselves. I trust your first day went brilliantly, and you are as famished as I." With a wave of his hand dishes upon dishes of food appeared, weighing down the tables with an audible groan. "Tuck in, everyone!"

Sidra paid no heed to the food in front of her, even though her stomach was twisting in on itself. It was almost as if the world had stopped. The aromas from the food, the clanking of silverware, the hard bench beneath her, were nearly imperceptible. The dark man's gaze pinned her down, sized her up, and found her lacking. She couldn't focus on the rest of his features. Except for his eyes. They were haunted, disturbed, and black. No pupil could be discerned. A flash of something she couldn't put her finger on shone in his eyes before he turned his sight on the woman sitting beside him.

Sidra felt released. She let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. What the hell was that? She found it unsettling. His focus was like being under a microscope, a blinding spotlight, scrutiny married to scorn. A cage of vulnerability fell, trapping her, and she wondered who in the world this man could be. She hoped like hell he wasn't a professor. And then it clicked. Her face paled and her brow broke into a sweat.

"Duncan? Who is that man dressed in black sitting at the staff table?"

Duncan turned and looked at the man in question, although he didn't have to. He knew to whom she was referring by the look on her face. He seemed stunned that she didn't already know. "That nasty piece of work is none other than Professor Severus Snape, resident bastard, and positively the most horrible person I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hearsay**

Sidra spent the evening hours putting her things in order while nursing a headache. Her clothes were hung, folded, and put into her armoire, books put on shelves alphabetically, and toiletries neatly organised. She went over the items she had brought with her for the year; dragon-hide gloves, kneeling cushion, trowel, enchanted scissors, finely sharpened knives, and so forth. Feeling satisfied that she had everything and everything was in its place, she settled down in front of the fire to watch the flames dance brightly.

She speculated over the various opinions she'd heard at dinner tonight about the infamous Hogwarts professor. The students, at least at the Gryffindor table, had given her an earful to contemplate while she'd forced down nourishment. Sipping a warm mug of cider, she berated herself now for not at least looking for a picture of the PotionsMaster, which might have given her more clues to his nature.

She was certainly surprised by her reaction to him, and more frankly why it bothered her so much. She felt as if she had already somehow got off on the wrong foot with the man, though she couldn't imagine why. She hadn't even met him yet.

Sidra knew he was the best in his field, and the reason why she'd chosen to study at Hogwarts before finishing her last two years of education at St. Mungo's. There had been no question in her mind about who he was, or how he conducted himself, or even what he looked like. He had been published in numerous Potions journals, all of which she had pored over and analysed. He had also discovered new properties for obscure ingredients, perfected old remedies to unthinkable maladies, and thus secured funding from influential organisations across Europe. Severus Snape was one of, if not the best potioneer of his and maybe even any generation. What better scholar to apprentice with?

Now, ruminating on what she had heard about him at dinner, it struck her odd that she had heard of nothing but his academic accomplishments. She'd had no idea of his reputation in Britain, and especially at Hogwarts, until tonight. She was only going on his standing in France and from the good word of Professor Adder, her Potions instructor at Beauxbatons. Sidra wondered if her former Potion Mistress had ever met the man.

Living and going to school in France at the time of the war, she'd been blissfully ignorant of the tragedies that had taken place in the U.K. Of course, she had read about the horrible circumstances and events leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts and its aftermath, but the consequences weren't the same that far away. Voldemort and his Death Eaters didn't have the level of impact in her world as they did here. So her understanding of the sacrifices and losses it took to defeat a powerful, bigoted Dark Wizard and his followers were hard for her to comprehend.

Apparently Snape was a _former_ Death Eater, and had played an important role in the outcome of the war. Supposedly he was a spy working for the Headmaster, all the while hiding his true allegiances from Voldemort. However, some thought he had just changed sides to save his sorry arse and keep himself out of Azkaban.

No one at dinner tonight had thought he was a hero, but Sidra thought his actions sounded courageous. It took a backbone of steel to face a madman on a continual basis. She thought back to the conversation she had in the Great Hall with Duncan and his friends.

"That nasty piece of work is none other than Professor Severus Snape, resident bastard, and positively the most horrible person I know."

"Huh?" Sidra had replied, completely ungracefully.

"That ugly bloke is Snape, Sidra." Duncan cringed.

"Haven't you ever seen him before? Or _heard_ about him?" Barrett, the black-haired boy named on her right, spoke.

"Well, I—" Sidra began, but was cut off.

Several students chimed in at once, making Sidra's head spin. She tried to focus on each face as they bickered.

"A traitor, that one!"

"A true git if I ever saw one."

"Horrible excuse for a human, and especially a teacher!"

"Switched sides at the end, my Mum says," exclaimed a portly boy wearing glasses, who was called Stu.

"Oi! Your Mum's been married more times than he's switched sides," chastised a tall red-haired girl, "Snape has always been on our side — I mean, once he realised his mistake, mind you — according to Potter!"

It was a lot for Sidra to take in. She had known that Snape had had a part in the war, but not the nuances that went along with his role.

"Let's face it: he switched sides more than once, and he could do it again," stated Stu knowingly "…and he only_ finally_ started helping with our cause, because he was a nesh little wimp and scared of the Dementor's kiss!"

"I don't know why, the man has no soul!" Bennett grimmaced.

"Not according to Dumbledore!" the pretty red-head spoke pointedly.

"Dumbledore has always protected that man, Merlin knows why, and I tell you I think Dumbledore went mental when he was quashed off that tower by Snape. He must have busted his head or something"

"Naff off Stu, the man was cleared of all charges!"

Sidra was confused. "Wait a second, hold on. What are you going on about?"

"Everyone thought he had killed Dumbledore; Harry Potter saw it with his own eyes. Turns out Dumbledore and Snape had that illusion planned out the whole time. With Voldemort believing Dumbledore dead, he came here and thought he could overtake us, win his war," Duncan explained.

"He's still a prat, menaces everyone. I mean, bollocks, I had class with him last year and he is even worse than before the war — two years ago, if you can believe that!" Stu replied.

"He's a Death Eater!" The black-haired Bennett whispered.

"He was a spy, and apparently a good one. Fooled old Voldy, supposedly. Had us all fooled. He was playing bad, but in Dumbledore's' pocket the whole time," Duncan cut in. "But if you ask me, he still wishes he was on the dark side."

"Listen, he _was_ a Death Eater, had a change of heart and went to Dumbledore, worked for our side, paid his penance, and helped Harry defeat Voldemort." the red haired girl iterated, "After the war he was tried and found not guilty."

"Yeah, but like my Pop says, 'Once a Death Eater always a Death—" Stu chimed in once again.

"Stuff it Stu! Death Eaters don't exist anymore. Anyway, I don't like him anymore than you do. But at least show him some respect!"

"Not a chance Ronda! If he wants respect, he needs to act like a respectable bloke, not a demented, MUDEROUS mongrel!" Stu sounded off, crossing his arms to his chest.

Sidra had listened on as she picked at her food, until finally Duncan had enough and changed the subject. If he was cleared of all charges, and Dumbledore vouched for him, he couldn't be all the things he was accused of.

She glanced at the Head table again. Snape paid no heed to the students and their conversations. He looked to be ignoring his dinner companions and concentrating on his own meal. With his eyes not boring into hers she didn't get the same feeling as before. But something about him drew her attention like a magnet.

The rest of the meal had gone by in a jovial manner, and Sidra didn't look back at the Head table again, for fear of catching Snape's eye. She slowly began to unwind and find her tongue. Once the debate had moved on from Snape, she conversed animatedly with Duncan's friends and old housemates.

They told her more about each House, what they were known for, and the rivalries between them. That was interesting. Knowing more about Slytherin, it made more sense that Vendala had chosen to sit at their table. She did remember that Durmstrang favoured the Dark Arts, and Sidra definitely got some dark vibes from her. She wished she hadn't of thought it, but she wondered if Vendala's choice of school curried favour with Snape.

When dinner was finished and the plates and serving dishes had been cleared, Dumbledore bid all a good evening. Slowly the students started drifting out of the Great Hall, either in pairs or groups, making their way to their dorms or the library until curfew. Dumbledore gestured for her, Duncan, and Vendala to join him at the staff table. All but a few of the staff members, including Snape, had already left the hall. Relief flooded through Sidra at the delayed introduction.

She met the half-giant Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures instructor, and Professor Flitwick, the small Charms Professor, both of whom had stuck out at her previously. She also had the pleasure of finally meeting Madame Pomfrey, the great Mediwitch, and found her directness and lack of frivolity the perfect combination for a healer. She had offered Sidra a chance at a jump start on her training, and urged her come to the hospital wing on weekends, which Sidra gladly accepted. Pomona also stuck around and greeted her with geniality.

Sidra noticed that Vendala stood back from all gathered. She seemed bored and preoccupied, impatiently waiting to get back to her rooms. Duncan, on the other hand, laughed freely with all the remaining professors until finally Dumbledore announced he had an early morning, and off to his quarters he went.

Duncan walked Sidra back to her rooms. She felt glad she didn't have to consult her map again.

"You know, I did learn a thing or two while studying under Snape. Just don't expect to be coddled, don't expect to like him, and everything will be fine."

"I'm not worried," Sidra lied "and I don't expect anything of the sort. He just….gave me the willies, you know."

"Well I can't say I blame you," Duncan agreed. "You know, you don't sound like you've spent all your time in France. Were you born there, does your family live in France, or did you just go to school there?"

Sidra hesitated before answering. She desperately wanted to make friends here at Hogwarts; she didn't have many left at Beauxbatons or at home. But she didn't know how much about herself to reveal without having to…explain certain things.

"My grandparents are from France," she began. "They went to school at Beauxbatons, as did my Mum and Dad. Basically my whole family graduated from there. I wasn't born there. But I did spend a lot of my childhood visiting family. My parents decided to keep the tradition going, and send me to school there." A nice, balanced answer, Sidra thought, proud of herself.

"You sound American to me. Maybe Southern?"

Sidra laughed, "You have an ear for accents, Duncan." Not confirming or denying his question.

"But you speak French, right?"

"Oh, oui! Je parle très bien le Français. C'est officiellement ma première langue. Et toi? Parlez-vous Français?"

"Seulement un peu. Ma famille aime visiter Nice. Je ne suis très bon." Duncan smiled sheepishly.

Sidra was only too happy to turn the topic off her family. She always found it hard to talk about them. They were not what one would call a normal magical family. She always found it easier not bringing them up, and if she was asked about them, she would keep her answers brief. The fact that Duncan seemed to accept her explanation made the journey to her rooms more pleasant.

They had climbed the final staircase and stood before her door in no time at all.

"Well, goodnight, Duncan. See you at breakfast?" she smiled.

"Count on it." He replied. Sidra watched him walk away, thinking he was a good guy and hoping to know him better before entering her rooms.

The fire had died down considerably while Sidra had reflected over the events of the evening. She supposed, all in all, her day had gone fairly well. She liked having other apprentices here in the castle with her, and hoped they could rely on each other during their time there.

Well, at least with Duncan. She had to have more time to really get a feel on Vendala. Although Sidra wasn't the type to pass judgement on people early, first impressions counted for something, and Vendala's had left a lot to be desired. Only time would tell.

As for Snape…well, she had changed her mind, thinking on it now. She wanted to meet him, just not too soon. Curiosity had her in its clutches, and she wanted to know the man that had been portrayed as evil. She didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the glimpse of something unrecognisable she'd seen in his onyx eyes before he looked away. Maybe it was the shot of adrenaline that coursed through her veins as he sized her up. Or maybe, just maybe, she had felt free for one blessed second, for one miniscule moment, and not trapped at all.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Warning: the following chapter contains adult themes.

**The Assignation**

The night was warm, unreasonably so, and the dark-clad wizard travelled further into Knockturn Alley, making sure his movements stayed out of the grasp of the moonlight's lengthening fingers. With the warmth came a humid stickiness that made the layers of black fabric wrap tightly around his body, damp and heavy. He tugged gently at his cravat, lying like a sweat-sodden rag, limp and pooling at the hollow of his throat. The waterlogged material further irritated the already sensitive scar traversing the length of his neck. He felt constricted, and not just by clothing alone.

Memories, echoes of a past not likely to be forgotten, reached out and beckoned him on. It had been close to a year since being in this hard, hope-vacant alley, yet it was still the same as he remembered all those months ago. Over two years after the war and virtually nothing had changed. The smell of greed, destruction, and defeat still wafted through the air, only punctuated by the more acrid smell of piss, vomit and burnt cauldrons. The offending odours made his eyes water and his throat close up. He pulled an emerald green handkerchief out of his pocket to place over his mouth to keep the offense at a minimum, but mainly to keep from retching.

Most of the shops had been abandoned, boarded up; hiding things no one had uses for anymore. Yet some merchants remained open, selling to those who dared to show their face in such establishments. The windows of these shops no longer proudly displayed their nefarious wares, but instead were decorated with mundane objects. But still the yellow light that illuminated those small window dioramas cast a sickening, weak haze over the run-down buildings and crumbling cobblestone.

Deep down the dark alley his destination lay further up the road and his soft footfalls were the only thing he heard in the late hour. Occasionally the sound of rats and crawlies of the night could be discerned, but just like the wizards and witches, they were not about to show themselves if they didn't have to. The alley used to be filled with the sounds of drunks raising their voices, arguing with prostitutes, haggling over prices for illicit acts. Drinking now took place behind closed doors and sealed shutters. As far as whores, well they were still lurking in the doorways, shrouds of concealment covering their livelihood.

He slowed his pace on approaching an old pub that looked deserted. Knowing that not to be the case, he slowly crept around the side, between crates of rotting wood and discarded trash, and slipped unseen through a forgotten, deteriorating wood door. The smell of sweet perfume and stale whisky hit his nostrils. It was a far cry better than the putridness of outside but it still made his nose twitch in disgust. Letting out a small sigh, he quietly shut the door behind him.

Inside there were others. Others, like him, gathered in the same place, looking for the same thing. It was dark outside, but it didn't compare to the lack of brilliance inside, and he had to adjust his eyes to the one candle that burned behind the bar, reflected in a cracked mirror. He didn't stand still for long, not wanting to be recognised; not wanting to be known. He moved quickly and silently to the far end of the room and took a seat at the end of the bar.

He briefly surveyed the room. Broken chairs and tables with legs missing were left in piles stacked in one corner of the discombobulated dive. Broken glass littered the floor and mixed with dust and dirt, barely visible in the gloom. Cobwebs hung from light fixtures burnt out long ago and swayed gently in the draughty room. Two burly wizards occupied small stools at the other end of the bar and they kept their eyes down, more interested in their drinks than in the wizard who had just walked in the door. He didn't know them, and thankfully they didn't care if he did. It was that kind of place, where anonymity was preferred over comfort and congeniality.

Several women lounged at a long wooden table in various stages of undress, too drunk to approach him, obviously spending their night's earnings on drink. Yes, it was a seedy place that had been very popular in its heyday, catering to both women and men who liked to drink and fuck. All that was left was a few worn out remnants of more prosperous times. He had not been here in several months, but the place was no better because of it.

The rail-thin man minding the bar placed a greased stained tumbler of whisky in front of him and quickly went back to minding his own business. He drank slowly from the glass, not really caring that it was dirty. The liquid burned all the way down and sent a shot of fire throughout his veins. To some men the drink would have been enough to make them feel courageous, but for him it only dulled the distaste of the moment. His lack of need for liquid courage for the deeds he would soon commit made him different from the majority of wizards who walked through that door.

This was the place the violence of his past manifested itself in a very particular form. He could no longer run from it. It was a very real part of him, no different from his eyes, hair or lips. He was only beginning to be able to see that now. His part in the war and a past love played a huge role in his rehabilitation, but no amount of forgiveness or allegiance could scour this black mark from his soul away. Because of the freedom the victory of the war afforded him was he able to do this. Not since his days with the Dark Lord could he be this true. He didn't dare. Yet this darkness inside him was always a passenger.

When he could push the thoughts out of his mind he was fine. But then a distinct heaviness would settle over him and no amount of reasoning, pleading, or chastising could lift the weight of his desire. It was almost maddening. It consumed him like a fire and the only real way to be free of it was to act on it. Committed, he stared into his drink, wishing he could just get this over with.

At that exact moment she decided to appear, right on time. He had a feeling she knew better than to be late.

He slowly raised his eyes as the outside door opened, letting in a tall, raven-haired woman. She stood briefly mimicking his earlier movements, letting her eyes adjust, before silently moving through an archway directly behind him. No one noticed her entrance or her slight limp, except for him as he secretly watched her walk by.

He took the last swallow of his drink before following behind. By the time he was under the archway she had already disappeared behind one of several closed doors that lined the cramped hallway.

He narrowed his black eyes and noticed the last door on the left was slightly ajar. Knowing where the women waited for him, he moved towards the room, feeling an incompatible mixture of dread and anticipation.

She was already undressing as he entered the room. The pale moonlight illuminated her lanky figure; every hard angle and bone that stood out prominently. He could see that these past months had not treated her any better than before the war. That she was still the same as she had always been soothed him in some way, and brought back a certain familiarity.

That was why he sought her out. She was one thing that anchored him to a past he would most like to forget. He could eschew old habits, thoughts, deeds, _all_, except for this one desire. What had once been an enjoyable distraction in his younger years became a habit and need now. This one desire he was no more likely to get in any other place or from anyone else. A relation, however twisted or torrid, existed between the two of them that he dare not wish on another.

What women would want him? Who could possibly take him completely, a damaged man by anyone's definition? The effect of his desires on any other woman sent his heart into a tailspin.

They say there is someone for everyone, but he knew this wasn't true. In fact, he wasn't sure if that was even what he was looking for. What he wanted came with frequency and urgency, and was his closest guarded secret. And what he wanted didn't sit well with the world after the war.

He would always be the Death Eater in the eyes of witches and wizards, always be the one who walked hand in hand with the Dark Lord for a time, no matter the final revelation of his actions. No one thought he deserved the power and release he craved. No one thought it had crossed his mind.

He had been hailed a hero by the Ministry after the war, following the account Potter had given. But after two years the sacrifices he'd made, the danger he had willingly walked towards, had all been forgotten; replaced by distrust once again. Without anything to do or anyone to be, he felt as if his purpose had vanished and his life held little meaning.

He felt numb. Being here brought some feeling back to him, however fleeting it was. He had denied himself and put off the inevitable until he felt shrivelled, a dried out shell of his former self. At least this evening could temporarily give him want he longed for.

Concentrating once again on the woman in front of him, he studied her with detachment. Once she had removed her clothing and turned around to face him, he felt a subtle buoyancy inflate his mind until he was almost whole, but it never quite reached his soul and he quickly switched his train of thought.

She stood before him with no emotion and no hint of recognition of past meetings. Only reimbursement held her in place. But this had been drove into her by his previous demands. No feeling, no emotion, being present only in body.

She was no beauty, and in fact she resembled him closely; thin, large nose, dark eyes, black lustreless hair. He had chosen her in the past, and still now, over others because of the physical resemblance, and because she also did what she had to do to survive, however unsavoury. The lack of lust he felt almost deflated him completely, until she spoke, reminding him of exploitations to come.

"The same as always?" she asked.

"Don't be daft," he spoke, "you already know the answer."

Nodding her head, and with some difficulty because of her bum leg, she lowered herself to the floor and crawled to kneel in front of him. Looking up at him she reached out for the buttons on his trousers and slowly undoing them one by one she reached inside and brought out his limp cock.

He looked down at her and waited. Watching her roll his manhood between her cold palms, his impatience got the better of him and he fisted a handful of her hair tightly, pulling her head and mouth toward him.

"Get on with it," he demanded.

She put her all into making him ready, preparing for the inevitable. She worked at him with both hands and her mouth. Once he was no longer flaccid she spoke with her mouth full.

"Enough?" she asked.

"It will suffice," he answered.

Now standing stiff before her, he pulled her up roughly by the hair and pushed her toward an un-made bed, not caring about her gimpy leg. He gave her one final shove before she collapsed on the crumpled duvet.

"Get on your knees and turn around," he ordered.

Complying she did so, and without asking she laced her hands together behind her back. He was pleased he didn't have to tell her to do it. Maybe he would go easy on her after all. Seeing her in such a submissive position, exposing herself, did more to make him hard than her mouth ever could.

Stepping behind her, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops. Hearing that sound, she visibly tensed up, making him pause. He glanced over her white skin marked with scars, wondering if some of them were put there by his own hand. Although the punishment he meted out never cut her or made her bleed, he had always made sure to give her something to remember him by. He felt guilty for a brief second before folding the belt in half and raising it above his head.

The slap that echoed through the room made his cock quiver. She let out a long-held moan that encouraged his actions. Again and again he brought the leather down, crisscrossing her skin with red welts. The lust coursing through his veins drowned everything else out.

His purpose was now clear, and the power he wielded made him feel something, where there was consuming emptiness. He wasn't just the discarded wizard he thought of himself as. He was more, much more, and felt once again that he held someone's well-being, even life, in the palm of his hand. It wasn't quite the same as helping save the wizarding world, but damn near close enough.

Ready for completion, he discarded the belt and placed his hand on her upper back, pushing her further into the sagging mattress, until he wondered if she could breathe. He looked down between her legs as he parted her folds, covered in course dark hair, and guided his length inside her.

She was dry, but he didn't care. He knew she was finally getting something she could, if not enjoy, at least anticipate, and her insides would soon be flooded. Headless of her pleas and moans, he could not be persuaded to touch her anywhere else. He hammered in and out, his breath coming in short, shallow measures. It lasted no more than a couple of minutes before he felt that familiar tug at his sack. Tightening and gripping.

He pulled out of the witch and exploded over her arse and thighs. He had never emptied himself inside a woman, never pushed the level of intimacy that far. The thought of sharing himself so fully and without restraint made him feel vulnerable.

To him there could be no crueller fate than saddling a woman with his offspring; and he never ever wanted to be a father. That simple act of consideration made her grunt in what he had come to recognise as frustration. To his knowledge, he had never given a woman pleasure, or moreover an orgasm, and he wasn't about to try now. He realised this was selfish, but the thought of caring scared him.

He stepped away from her, buttoning his trousers as she slowly pushed herself off the bed. He didn't know why, but he turned his back as she made her way to her clothes pile, discarded on the floor. He felt it was a respectable thing to do after what had just occurred.

He stared at the peeling wallpaper as she slowly put her garments back in place, careful of the raised marks he had given her, he was sure. Finally, when the room went silent, he turned around to face her.

"I expect the amount hasn't changed," he inquired.

She shook her head. "No, Severus. It has not."

The use of his first name made him bristle.

He withdrew several galleons from his robe and moved to place them on a small table beside the bed. Without looking back, he made his way out of the tiny room, into the hall, and continued out the side door of the bar. Just as before, no one paid him any attention as he made his exit.

As he made his way back down Knockturn Alley and to the well-lit and lively Diagon Alley, the high he had been riding slowly faded. He Apparated the moment he was outside of the Leaky Cauldron, the bastion between Muggle and wizarding worlds, and appeared in front of the gates of Hogwarts. By the time he reached his personal rooms, deep in the underbelly of the castle, he again felt the emptiness that plagued his existence. Nothing, he realised would make him whole, not even something he craved and had turned to previously.

With nothing else to turn to, he undressed quickly and headed to the shower. He avoided the mirror in his bathroom, not wanting to see his reflection and the distaste he had for himself in that moment. He needed to rid himself of the night's poor remedy that had left him still ailing. Besides, he had a meeting with Dumbledore later at midnight, and the Headmaster could smell desperation and deviance a mile away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Unexpected Conversations**

Severus Snape glanced at the old clock on the mantle. It was a quarter 'til midnight. He had a meeting with the Headmaster at twelve. Getting up from his old leather chair by the empty fireplace, he quickly threw on his teaching robes and went out the door, setting his wards in place. His step was sure and quick. It took time to get from the dungeons to Dumbledore's office. He cleared his mind of what had taken place earlier that evening and did not given it a second thought. He now began to contemplate the start of the new school year.

Walking through the halls of Hogwarts was truly like being home. He had sold his house on Spinner's End as soon as he could after the war, wanting to close a very long chapter in his life for good. He now lived full-time at Hogwarts, with no inclination to find another personal dwelling. All of his belongings now resided in the castle in his rooms, which, with the help of magic, had expanded to accommodate him. In truth, he knew Dumbledore wanted to keep an eye on him, although for different reasons now. Somehow the old wizard could sense his unease with the role he played now or, Severus thought, the lack of a role.

The restoration of the school went as expected after the war. It was back to its grandeur in a matter of weeks without much help from the Wizarding community. The walls and stones knew what they had to do to put themselves aright. By the autumn following the war, the school was completed again, and students roamed the place as if nothing had ever happened.

The halls were eerily quiet without students. He preferred it that way, although he missed deducting House points from the haughty Gryffindors. No loud ruckuses, no poorly aimed jinxes, no running, no whispered rumours in dark corners. It was just him and the ghosts out and about right now, and it suited him just fine. Even Filch had holed up in his room, with no errant children to hunt down. Severus suspected the cantankerous caretaker sorely missed the opportunity to host detention.

He climbed the final staircase and stood in front of the gargoyle that acted as sentry, letting only those who are worthy pass.

"Sticky Flan," the Potion Master stated.

He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. The Headmaster's fascination with sweets was bordering on an addiction. The gargoyle slid back and he ascended the spiral staircase, not waiting for the staircase to take him. The door was already open and Severus found Dumbledore behind his desk, tinkering with one of his many silver instruments.

"Ah, Severus. Right on time, as usual. I apologize for not meeting with you sooner. Hogwarts business has kept me away for a few days. I had hoped this meeting would have taken place earlier." Dumbledore said as he laid his toy down gently on his desk.

Severus sat before him. He didn't have to be asked. He had been in here so many times speaking with the Headmaster that he no longer needed an invitation.

"It is nothing to trouble yourself over, Headmaster. What is it you wanted to see me about?"

Severus had been curious as to why the Headmaster had called a meeting between the two of them at such a late hour. The owl Dumbledore had sent the previous week was filled with passive urgency.

"Always right to the point. Relax Severus. Have some tea; or perhaps something stronger?" Dumbledore indicated to his well-guarded liquor cabinet.

Now concerned, the younger Wizard crossed his arms over his chest. Without waiting for a reply, Albus summoned two glasses and a bottle of port to his desk. As he began to pour, he studied his Potion Master closely.

"You know Severus, not all things we discuss in this office will affect you as they have in the past," Dumbledore handed him a glass, "some things we mull over can have positive outcomes."

Truly worried now, Severus took a long pull from his drink and nearly finished it. He sat forward, anticipating the worst. He thought briefly that this could be the end of his tenure at Hogwarts; that Dumbledore was going to fire him. He tried hard to not let his thoughts appear on his face.

"Go on," Severus managed to get out, raising an eyebrow.

"As you know, Minerva and I have been working with the Board of Governors to allow secondary students to attend Hogwarts to further their magical education."

"Surely with no success. There are Wizarding universities for that purpose." Severus interjected with a smirk, feeling relief pour over him, but still concerned where this conversation was headed.

"Oh no, Minerva seems to have been born with a silver tongue, and uses it on occasion, when she sees fit. That witch can be downright persuasive," laughed Albus, "and I enjoyed watching her arguing for the right to have older students apprentice here. Of course, I agreed with her completely, and with both of us arguing for the right to educate advanced students, the Governors eventually acquiesced."

Severus brought his hand to his temple and applied pressure to stave off a growing headache. He knew precisely where this was headed, and wondered if getting sacked wasn't the better alternative.

"Headmaster," began Severus.

"Severus, dispense with the Headmaster nonsense."

"Fine," he paused, "_Albus_, I have no objection to apprentices here at Hogwarts. I do not however, wish to be saddled with one. In addition to my classes I also have my research, which occupies the rest of my time. I have no remaining time left to instruct needy students who want to specialise in Potions. There are programmes better suited for individualised study elsewhere."

"Yes, Severus, I realize that. But none of the other programmes have you to lead them."

"I'm hardly what you call an exemplary Professor, at least according to the Board and current or ex-students."

"You have a unique teaching style, I admit. But no other Master or Mistress of Potions can compare to your vast knowledge of brewing. Just your recent research alone puts other instructors to shame."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Albus."

"Shame. I always thought flattery a useful tool."

At this the Potion Master rolled his eyes. This was a bad idea, and trying to get Dumbledore to see this was like Sisyphus and his rock. He tried a different tactic.

"Head — Albus, even if I agreed to this, which I do not, I do not know where these students stand in their knowledge of potions, or where to begin their _advanced_ education. There must be a structured curriculum, that I cannot provide, at university."

"Remind me Severus. Did you not apprentice with a Master instead of going to university?"

"Yes, but…"

"And you see what an excellent Potion Master you turned out to be. As a matter of fact, you apprenticed with a goblin, did you not?"

"I do not see how that is relevant." Severus said indignantly. He was offended. Did Dumbledore just compare him to a goblin?

"You see, goblins are hard, thorough Professors that have little patience for teaching. The comparison is fair. Students learn from all styles of educating. You have always managed to produce excellent NEWT scores from your classes. Besides, at universities students sometime get thrown to the wayside, not enough hands-on experience, which you could readily provide."

Dumbledore held his hand up and began ticking off the reasons why this was good idea on his long thin fingers.

"Having an apprentice will afford you more time in the end. They can help you with your research. Grade the first through third year's papers, keep your ingredient stores stocked…really, the help they could provide is endless. Secondly, the knowledge you can provide them is invaluable."

Severus made to interrupt, but Dumbledore spoke over him.

"Let me finish. Thirdly, you have an opportunity to create a secondary Potions curriculum here at Hogwarts, and that has never been done. I have no doubt it would be used for years to come. Lastly, I believe this will give you a sense of purpose. A reason to be more involved. It seems to me you have been searching for one for some time. This apprentice business practically hands it to you on a silver platter."

Severus felt the air escape him as he leaned back in the overstuffed chair. How could Dumbledore know he felt that way? That was a useless question. He should have known Albus would have recognised his sense of lack.

"For how long?" Severus asked, resigned.

"Three years."

"Gods, Albus! How do you know that I was not planning on retiring? That perhaps I need a break. Three years is a long time."

"There's more, I'm afraid," Albus spoke cautiously, "the first year you will have an efficient girl from Durmstrang, Vendala Drake, taught by Master Graff. I believe you are acquainted with him, are familiar with his teaching method, and know the girl will come prepared."

Severus didn't recognise the name, thankfully. He certainly didn't want to be spending time with a former Death Eater's child. He thought of the questions and accusations that would have been hurled his way. What Dumbledore had just told him seemed innocuous, and he waited for the other shoe to drop.

"The second year, you will have another student join Miss Drake. She is attending Hogwarts in preparation to become a Healer. Her first year will be spent studying Herbology, her last apprenticing with Madame Pomfrey."

The now irate Potions Master jolted from his seat and began pacing.

"Seriously _Albus, _one student is more than enough, but two? That is overstepping this blasted idea of yours by a league," he seethed, "what in Hades were you thinking when you agreed to this?"

"You haven't heard who this second student is." The Headmaster stated simply.

Dread filled Severus. He stopped pacing and stood stock still, facing his only friend, anger clearly lining his face, waiting for Dumbledore to go on.

"Well?"

"Her name is Sidra Moncrieff; I believe you know her father. Excellent student at Beauxbatons, plus, she has the added advantage of coming up under a fellow Potion Master's roof. Quite knowledgeable, I must say. She might be enjoyable to teach."

Oh, he knew her father alright; a despicable piece of dung that hung on the coattails of other Potioneers. He also had made more potions for the Dark Lord than Severus made himself. He might not have taken the Dark Mark, but he sure as hell acted like he did.

The fact that no one knew of Brix Moncrieff's involvement with Voldemort made Severus fume. No connection, no blame, no arrest. He had more money than the Malfoys, which no doubt played a huge role in his concealment. It was a shame and a nick to his pride that he had to accept donations from the man to fund his research. Now he had to instruct his daughter. Dear Merlin.

"I doubt it," Severus whispered, "Albus, will you not reconsider? I do not feel this is the appropriate time…"

"Severus, my dear boy, as they say, the deal is done. I could not change the circumstances even if I wanted to. I couldn't go back on my word."

Accepting the situation was hard. He felt tethered to the old Wizard's whims. Still standing, he nodded his head.

"Is there anything else, Headmaster?" Severus used Dumbledore's title to make a point.

Albus sighed, "No, that is all. Enjoy the last two weeks before the students arrive. The staff meeting will occur the Thursday before the Welcoming Feast, at precisely six o'clock. We will take dinner in the staff room."

"I shall see you then."

Severus took his leave of Dumbledore, chagrined at the prospect of the three dismal years ahead. At least he had a full year to get used to having a brat under his feet before adding another one. Sidra Moncrieff. Why he had to be burdened with a child of a spoiled, crooked wizard, he couldn't fathom. She was probably just like him: arrogant, disengaged, coddled, and ignorant.

He ground the stones beneath his feet with a menacing stride on his way back to the dungeons. If the students could see him now, indignation gracing his brow, hands clenched in fists, robes billowing behind him, they would likely run for cover. He wished Dumbledore would leave well enough alone. It would never cease to amaze him, how he had such a hold over his life. Would he ever be his own man?

Lost in his thoughts of freedom from the whims of wizards, he didn't hear the footsteps coming towards him at a brisk pace. Turning a corner in the dimly lit dungeon, he ran smack into Madame Pomfrey, knocking her backward, leaving her teetering on her feet. He was lightning- quick. He reached out to grab her upper arms firmly before setting her gently right. He narrowed his eyes at the Mediwitch as he scrutinized her surprised face.

"What brings you to the belly of the castle so late, Madame? And in such haste?"

"I was looking for you!" she said. "You scared the ghoul out of me, Severus. Why are you creeping around so late at night? You are usually in your laboratory, labouring away at this hour. I swear, Severus; I see why most of the students suspect you of being a bat!" She placed her hand firmly over her heaving bosom. "I have been down here several times throughout the night, and you have not been here. I've searched high and low for you, and—"

"Is there an emergency, Poppy?" Severus asked without concern.

"Well no…but I wanted to speak with you about this list of potions, salves, and pastes I need for the hospital before term starts," Poppy handed him a furled parchment filled with writing, "and I wanted to speak to you about the new student who will be apprenticing with us both."

Severus bristled at the mention of her. Of _course_ he was the last to know anything. He glanced briefly at the list, inwardly sighing. It was indeed very long. He would have to put his research on hold while he fulfilled his obligations to the school.

"You will have what you need in plenty of time, Poppy. It is late. My meeting with Dumbledore lasted longer than I anticipated. We can discuss this further at a more convenient hour."

"Yes, yes, I know I can count on you, Severus. But did you not think her letter seemed outstandingly knowledgeable?" She raised her eyebrows in a sort of invitation.

Severus almost asked her what in Hades she was going on about. He had not received a letter from either girl. It wouldn't have changed his mind about any of this even if he had.

"Poppy, I need to attend to my work. Once again I will remind you it is late, and you look as exhausted as I feel. I will speak to you later this week."

With that, he left Madame Pomfrey alone in the hallway, staring after him, shaking her head. She pivoted quickly on her heel and marched back up the many flights of stairs to the hospital corridor, her brisk footfalls echoing disapproval of Severus Snape's shortness.

In the privacy of his own rooms, Severus threw off his robes and cravat, making quick work on the buttons of his frock coat. He sat before the cold fireplace and summoned his best whisky, drinking straight from the bottle. No point in using a glass. He planned on drinking the whole thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Bindweed**

As September's gold and red gave way to October's bare limbs, and the cold crept over the stones of the castle, Sidra became accustomed to life at Hogwarts rather quickly. She had abandoned her map after the first week. With Duncan's help navigating the halls and grounds, she grew familiar with the school faster than she had first expected. Granted, most of her time was spent in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout, in the library studying, in the Great Hall taking nourishment, or in her own rooms; yet she still felt confident finding her own way. One of her favourite things to do was to walk with Duncan beside the lake and listen to him tell her stories about his time spent at Hogwarts.

From his stories and her experience, it seemed that Hogwarts was less formal than Beauxbatons, and she felt somewhat slighted at not having the opportunity to be educated here instead. At least she was here now. Beauxbatons had never let students searching for secondary learning attend, instead encouraging them to go on to university. Her father certainly agreed with that mentality. He had practically begged on bended knee for her not to come, but with her grandmother's influence he had finally acquiesced.

She hadn't thought much about her family. At times she missed her mother and sister, but that was it. She rarely thought of her father, except for the times when his disapproval would hang over her musings. To be honest, there wasn't much time for anything but working with Pomona and writing papers. The papers were few, as Professor Sprout took more of a hands-on approach, but the ones Sidra did write were well thought-out and accurate.

One Saturday afternoon in late October, when the clouds hung heavy with snow not yet released, Duncan and Sidra walked along the shores of the lake, arguing the properties of Mermaid Milk. Duncan was for hunting Mermaids and farming them for precious Potions ingredients, but Sidra was vehemently against it. The golden substance was controversial, after all. Some Witches and Wizards were against using it in Potions in the first place, as it was hard to extract without harming the underwater creatures. However, Sidra had seen firsthand how crucial the milk could be in certain life-sustaining elixirs. She also suspected it would help with fertilizing certain magical plants prone to short life spans.

She was just suggesting a more humane way to harvest the milk: by luring the Mermaids asleep through playing a magical lullaby underwater with an enchanted flute. Duncan nearly laughed his arse off at the thought of her doing so.

"Seriously, Duncan, it could be done. Don't be so quick to dismiss it." She ended up laughing right along with him. He didn't know it, but she couldn't swim.

"Oh, I would definitely like to see you try."

"Maybe one day I will. And when my idea works, I promise I won't say I told you so."

"Can you even play a flute?"

She hadn't really thought about that. No, she couldn't. She had zero musical ability.

"Erm…well I could learn. It can't be that hard," she insisted.

They had made a loop of the lake and ended up at the greenhouses when Pomona burst through the glass door of number three, interrupting their light-hearted argument. Her arms were full with a large basket containing bunches of dried aconite. Drops of sweat were gathering along her hairline from working in the hot house, and Sidra felt a pang of guilt for not helping, even though it was Saturday.

"Oi! Sidra, perfect timing. Be a dear, and take this mess to Professor Snape for me. We have a Pugnacious Poppy ready to bloom, and I don't want to miss it," Pomona said as she thrust the basket into Sidra's arms.

"Also, meet me here after dinner, and don't forget your dragonhide gloves!" the portly Witch called over her shoulder as she retreated back to the warmth of the greenhouse.

Forgetting their earlier conversation, Sidra looked to Duncan, getting ready to ask him to accompany her to the dungeons.

"Don't look at me young lady. You're on your own. There is no way you are going to catch me anywhere near the snake pit, especially on a Saturday," Duncan laughed. "See you at Dinner." And with a wink he took his leave, making his way back to the castle at a leisurely pace.

Sidra groaned inwardly. She still hadn't met Snape. In fact, she hadn't thought too much about him since the first night she was here. Every once in a while, at meals, she would steal glances at him, but found his attention elsewhere. So she shoved the thought of him out of her mind. Their paths had never seemed to have cause to cross.

Now she had no choice but to meet the man face to face. As she made her way inside, she wondered whether she should drop the aconite off at the classroom or his office. She had no idea where he did his brewing, or where his private rooms were.

Maybe he would be out and she could just leave the basket in the hall. Making her way down the staircase, she passed several students dressed in green and silver. Slytherin colours. She had had very little interaction with them outside of Herbology class.

She thought of asking one the students to deliver the basket to the Potions Master, but they barely glanced at her as she made her way to the Potions classroom. She thought she would try there first.

Her senses were on alert as she approached the door. What was she expecting? She didn't know, but she was as nervous as a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a room full of rocking chairs. She paused in front of the classroom door, threw her shoulders back and straightened her spine.

She wanted to get this over with. There was no reason she should be this nervous. She told herself to stop being ridiculous and knock on the damn door. Her hands full, she resorted to kicking the door instead with her foot.

No answer. She kicked louder this time and waited, hearing movement behind the closed door. To her surprise, it wasn't Snape that opened the door, but Vendala. She looked dishevelled, and her work robe was splattered in an unidentifiable orange substance.

"Yes?" Vendala asked, obviously put out at having to answer the door.

"I'm looking for Professor Snape. Professor Sprout asked me to deliver this aconite to him," answered Sidra, indicating the basket in her arms.

"Well, you better deliver it to him. He's in his office," Vendala sneered and slammed the door in Sidra's face.

What a bitch, thought Sidra. She had half a notion to put down the basket and barge into the Potions classroom and give the girl a piece of her mind. This was the first time she had spoken to Vendala since meeting her in Dumbledore's office, and instead of playing nice, she _had_ to be rude. No longer afraid, only angry, she turned and went further down the hall to Professor Snape's office door. It was also closed, and without thinking she kicked it several times and waited for an answer.

Immediately the door was thrown open and Sidra was confronted with a wall of black. She stopped herself from taking a step back. The man before her looked like he just stepped out of a Victorian catalogue. She stared at the row of black buttons on the front of his frock coat, thinking it must take him forever to get dressed in the morning, as he casually leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms in front of him. The sight of him took her breath away.

"Yes?" He repeated Vendala's earlier greeting.

She quickly looked him over, searching for some hint, some clue of what he might be thinking before she replied. This was closest she had been to him. She didn't realize he was so tall. The Potion Master's expression gave away nothing; in fact he looked bored, and she half expected him to start picking his nails, perhaps yawn. His black, lanky hair grazed his shoulders and his nose was rather large, but overall he was rather handsome, in a predatory sort of way.

"Professor Sprout asked me to deliver this aconite, sir."

She finally looked into his eyes and felt the same way she had weeks ago. She was mesmerized. She immediately looked away, trying to see into his office. He abandoned his casual stance and blocked her view.

"You may leave it there." He indicated the ground at his feet.

"Of course," she flashed him a brilliant smile, as she carefully lowered the basket to the stone floor. In truth, she didn't want to be dismissed so quickly. Rapidly she searched her brain for something, anything to speak to him about.

"If I may, sir, I was curious to know if you had completed your research on the effects of Bindweed, specifically the magical uses of the roots for the connection between the realms."

He looked down at her with what Sidra could best describe as indifference, clearly not impressed that she followed his most current research subject. For several seconds Sidra thought he wasn't going to answer her.

"Tell me Miss Moncrieff, why would a girl such as you be interested in that particular area of research?" Although his voice was rich and soft, he put a certain emphasis on the word _girl_ that she didn't like.

"I am curious to know what transpires with Witches and Wizards when Healers believe that they have left this realm for good, but in actuality they have only briefly left the living. Where do they go? Why do they come back? I think your research has the potential to afford us that knowledge." Sidra answered honestly.

"Most Wizards are. There have been many books written on the subject."

"Yes. That is true, but there has not been anything close to what you have discovered. Everything I have read, up until I found your research, was just speculation. I think there is real hope in finding a way for people beyond our reach to come back. There has been no way that _we_ could experience death, well, you know, like the _dead._" She spoke confidently.

"Curious, for a student in the healing arts, to be so intrigued by death."

"That is one of many areas I'm curious about Professor."

"Indeed. Now if you will excuse me." He spoke, finalizing the conversation.

"Yes, of course, absolutely. Enjoy the aconite. See you around." She smiled widely, cursing the blush spreading across her pale face. She took a step back, still smiling, not receiving one in return. Before she could make any more of a fool of herself, she turned and made herself walk at a normal speed.

Behind her she heard him say, "Stick to the living Miss Moncrieff." It was said in almost a whisper, but she still heard him. She didn't pause at his words, but kept on going, practically tripping over the first few steps of the stairs leading out of the dungeons. He didn't know. He couldn't have known. Her obsession with the death of one's mind was her closest guarded secret. She had never told a soul. It would give her away.

Severus Snape watched her walk away. Out of all the papers he had written and lectures he had given on various components of his research, she had to zero in on his most important. Bindweed. It had kept him alive, if only barely. As far as he knew, no other Potioneer had discovered its use in healing the left-for-dead. Maybe that's why she asked. Maybe her father wanted to know. Maybe that was the reason she was here in the first place: to spy on his work and deliver his achievements to his rival.

She certainly had sincerity in her face when she asked him her questions, but as he knew well, sincerity could be affected. There was something about her he couldn't put his finger on. Thank Circe she looked nothing like her miserable father. He didn't know if he could stand to be in the same room with her, let alone instruct her, if she had. She spoke plainly and with curiosity, which again was nothing like her sire. He made up his mind to find out more about her.


End file.
